We all sat in the car, Stuart driving and Jennifer sitting shotgun. I sat on Jennifer’s lap, with her hand gripping me in lieu of a seatbelt. She had the elbow of her other arm resting on the top of the door panel her hand cradling her head, and was staring out the window disinterestedly, not appearing to be listening as Stuart engaged in lively banter about some funny story one of his work colleagues had told him. But judging from Jennifer’s silence, it was missing the mark. I knew from personal experience how difficult it was to make Jennifer laugh. It required an almost aggressive sexual wit, and some other mystery ingredient I still hadn’t figured out. Stuart possessed neither. He had a vanilla sense of humor, and seemed to regard sexual humor as beneath him.

And it struck me this wasn’t the time for joking: it was evident he’d lamentably forgotten all about the remark Jennifer had made as we had been leaving. Or the remark she hadn’t made. I couldn’t stop mulling over it during the drive to the restaurant. It had almost sounded like she was about to throw out a hint to Stuart that she wanted him to propose to her.

Damn, son! I thought. Take a hint!

It put me in an awkward position to know this, when Stuart did not. It was their business, but on the other hand, I could use my position as leverage. I held the power of a miniature cupid. If I was to gently help Stuart read Jennifer’s mind, and respond to her hints before they grew cold like last night’s dinner, he might help me arrange my own separate lodging. After all, I had enough money to hire live-in staff to help take care of me; help me bathe and feed myself. Or I could buy modified domestic facilities: a tiny shower, cooking equipment, fridge, lots of ramps and little stairs.

But I still needed someone to help get the ball rolling on moving out of their place, and I didn’t feel comfortable asking Jennifer. She would probably take it as an insult; like I was inferring she didn’t look after me properly.

We pulled up outside the Golden Calf, a big neon lit building. The place was as I remembered it; a cabaret-nightclub style venue where neon lights bathed tables in flamingo pinks and electric blues, and gaudy provincial chandeliers were suspended overhead.

"WOWIE," muttered Stuart, staring around. "WHERE’D YOU HEAR ABOUT THIS PLACE, JERRY?”

“Didn’t just hear about it. I’ve been here. Many times.” After a quick, confused look by Stuart, I added: “Back when I was normal size, I mean.”

“IT LOOKS LIKE A CASINO THREW UP ON ITSELF,” said Jennifer. “WHY WOULD YOU EVER WANT TO COME HERE?”

“You don’t like it?” I said, having to speak up over the restaurant din to get heard.

“OF COURSE I LIKE IT. I SAID, WHY WOULD YOU EVER WANT TO COME HERE?”

“I was in a weird place when I came upon it...I was trying to…” get over you, I thought inwardly. It was the only way I could think of finding another Jennifer: go to a place where someone like her might be found. Ostentatious. Of course I kept that part to myself.

I quickly changed tack. “It’s got a dance floor across the room, with an indoor balcony – fun, right?”

A waiter led us over to the wooden booth we had reserved. Stuart chose one seat and for some reason, Jennifer slid in beside him, instead of, for instance, taking the opposite seat. I was placed down on the part of the table opposite them, at the empty opposite seat. Then again, they probably did this to give me my own space on the table, I decided. But it would mean they’d be both staring down at me, instead of facing each other, which made me uncomfortable. At least the lights and the noise of the venue gave me some distraction. And anyway, the two of them were deliberating over the menu for the time being.

A tall figure swept by our table and stopped; an amply chested blonde who happened to be our waitress. Her hair was done up in a ‘high ponytail’ on top of her head, encircled by a thick band instead of a hairtie, and she was dressed in an armless corset designed to accentuate the bust and hourglass figure, underwear pants and whopping block heels. All she needed was an ostrich plume headdress and she was ready to jump on the stage and start dancing. Just your standard issue Golden Calf waitress attire.

Also the place had this policy about hiring young attractive female waitresses, figuring if the airlines did it, then why not a restaurant? Except the Golden Calf went one step further than commercial airlines and dressed their staff skimpy. It was one of the things that had drawn me in after my split with Jennifer. The need for distraction.

“ARE YOU GUYS READY TO ORDER?” the cute waitress said with a charming smile. Then she spotted me, and her eyes went round. My muscles seized up as if, for a split second I expected her to say ‘eeek, what is that?!’ and start spraying me with pesticide.

But instead her mouth stretched in a broad grin that showed her dazzling teeth.

“YOU’RE THAT GUY FROM THE TV – UHHHMM – JERRY, RIGHT?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” I said slowly. She was standing on my side of the table, hovering right over me, and I began to unconsciously scoot away from her as a means of escaping the feeling she was going to collapse on top of me.

“CAN I GET A PICTURE WITH YOU?” She went on, already pulling out her phone.

“Uh, sure,” I shrugged. Her smartphone was waving around above my head and I was growing increasingly alarmed by the notion that she could accidentally drop it straight down on top of me, which would probably feel like being hit with a surfboard.

Before I – or anyone – could protest, the girl’s hand swooped down and snatched me up off the table. Grasping me between varnished fingertips, she then held me right up against her soft, faintly rouged cheek as she smiled and snapped a photo.

“THANK YOU!” she gushed, putting her phone away. She turned her head towards me and – because I was already so close to her face – I found myself face to face with her plush pink lips. I could almost see my reflection in the shine of her lipstick.

I flinched, and she giggled at me, fanning me with her breath as her voice rumbled painfully into my ears:

“OHMIGOSH, YOU ARE EVEN CUTER IN REAL LIFE!”

Before I knew it, her lips smacked against my cheek in an eager kiss. I put my hands up to gently push her off, and she just giggled and cooed at me again; seemingly amused by my embarrassment.

“YOU’RE SO TINY YOU COULD FIT IN THE POCKET OF A PAIR OF PANTS. IT MUST BE SO FUN CARRYING YOU AROUND!”

Then, petting my head with her finger, she put me back down on the table. Quickly composing herself again, she took Stuart and Jennifer’s orders. Jennifer sounded a little detached after witnessing the surprise fangirl moment, though neither Stuart nor the waitress seemed to notice.

The spotlight of the waitress’s attention slid back over to me. Her expression was markedly different than when she was looking at Stuart or Jennifer. When she looked at me, her expression changed as if she was viewing a baby animal.

“WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE, HANDSOME?” she said with a big smile.

I had no idea. The food size issue had completely slipped my mind until now. When I did not respond she said:

“IT LOOKS LIKE A GRAPE COULD FILL YOU UP, HONEY.” As she said this, she gave my stomach a soft poke. “WHY DON’T I TALK TO THE KITCHEN AND SEE IF WE CAN SORT SOMETHING OUT FOR YOU. LEAVE IT WITH ME, OKAY?”

I thanked her. She gave me a quick wink as she went away again. Stuart also thanked her as she left. Jennifer did not.

In the silence left in the wake of the waitress’s departure, Stuart cracked his knuckles over the table awkwardly.

“THIS ISN’T ONE OF THOSE, ER…” his cheeks reddened slightly, “…B-BREASTURANT TYPE THINGS? LIKE HOOTERS?”

I stared. Stuart was so straitlaced and vanilla he couldn’t even say the word ‘breasturant’ without a weak smile. Nothing wrong with him; modesty’s no sin. It’s just – how did Jennifer ever end up with him?

“No, not like Hooters,” I said. “This is classier.”

“I’M NOT SEEING IT,” Jennifer said tersely.

“Well, maybe if you look the waitress in the face next time,” I retorted, unable to help myself. Stuart drew in a breath like he could’ve never imagined saying something like that. While Jennifer’s fingers snaked behind my shoulder and closed very delicately around my ear, giving it a small but sharp tug, jerking my head.

“Ow!” I went to open my mouth angrily but then shut it again; unpleasantly aware she was capable of easily ripping my ear off if she wanted.

The venue wasn’t too busy, and it didn’t take long before the waitress returned with the meals.

In addition to Stuart and Jennifer’s normal sized plates, she had a number of what appeared to be tiny bowls for me, which were actually measuring spoons with the handles broken off. She arranged them on the table in front of me: one of them contained soup, another tiny pieces of herbed dipping bread, and another larger one contained finely sliced meat and vegetables. She also gave me a tiny metal salt spoon to eat with.

She seemed very pleased with the arrangement, or maybe she was thrilled to have another excuse to interact with me.

“YOU WOULD LOOK SO ADORABLE SITTING IN A LITTLE DOLLHOUSE!” she said, watching me pick up my tiny spoon. Stuart was trying to keep his eyes on the waitress's face, and nowhere else. Jennifer was avoiding looking at her entirely. Before leaving our table, the waitress reached down with an extended finger and, before I could stop her, gave me a quick tickle under the chin.

The two of them engaged in light conversation as they ate, while I finished my bread. When there was a lull in the conversation, Jennifer’s fork came shooting across the table at me – in its own right a steel instrument of death that could’ve lanced clean through my body. It was one of those gestures she didn’t realize was frightening at my level.

One of the prongs had had some crumbs of food impaled on the end.

“YOU WANT TO TRY SOME?” she said. I had enough food of my own, but didn’t say no.

She held the tip of the fork in front of my face. Trying to ignore the steel prongs staring me in the eyeballs, I went to bite the morsel off. She immediately pulled the fork back, chuckling as my mouth closed on nothing. She pulled this same trick another two times, with me growing increasingly irate, until I finally swiped the food off the fork with my hand.

Stuart just shook his head.

After we finished eating, Jennifer showed interest in the indoor balcony dance floor I’d mentioned earlier, and quickly managed to cajole Stuart into joining her for a dance. After all, ‘cajole’ was her middle name.

“WE’RE GOING TO HAVE A DANCE, JERRY,” Stuart said, smiling and squeezing Jennifer’s hand as they both stood up. “WILL YOU BE ALRIGHT HERE ON YOUR OWN?”

“Absolutely,” I said. I definitely did not want to be ‘on them’ for that. I could see myself humiliatingly kept in Stuart’s pocket or gripped in Jennifer’s hand as they nuzzled and kissed and pressed against each other. I might as well jump in their bed with them as well.

The ‘reserved’ sign on the table gave them some measure of comfort no one would steal our seats in their absence.

After they’d gone, the waitress returned to clear the dishes. Seeing me alone on the table, she froze and I sensed her posture change. Her whole body, and her attention, turned at me, like a sweeping spotlight suddenly stopping right on top of me.

My body was surrounded by warm pressure, and in the blink of an eye I was levitating up towards her face.

“WHERE ARE YOUR CARERS?” she asked with earnest concern. Her huge eyes observed me closely under the long lashes.

“They’re over on the dance floor,” I replied. My mouth felt dry and I swallowed hard. “They’ll probably be back soon.”

Her features broadened in my visual field as I was brought up even closer to her face so she could hear me over the restaurant noise.

“OH, THAT’S GOOD,” she said, sounding relieved. “I WAS WORRIED THEY’D ABANDONED YOU,” she smiled slyly, “THEN YOU WOULD HAVE HAD TO COME HOME WITH ME IN MY HANDBAG, WOULDN’T YOU?”

I had no reply for that. Her sweet perfume was clouding up my thoughts.

She brought me up to her face and nuzzled her nose into my chest. “YOU ARE JUST SO, SO TEENY TINY,” she said in a kind of babying voice, “IF I WAS YOUR CARER, I WOULD PUT YOU IN MY POCKET SO JUST YOUR HEAD WAS POKING OUT, AND PET YOU ALL THE TIME…”

She fussed and puckered her lips at me for a moment. Then her voice grew more serious.

“I WANTED TO DO THIS SINCE I SAW YOU,” she confessed. “DON’T GET MAD, OKAY?”

Before I could say anything, one of her long lacquered fingernails untucked my shirt from my pants, and lifted it up until my bare chest was exposed.

“WOW, YOU REALLY ARE AS CHISELED AS ON TV!” she said, admiring my torso, blushing a little.

Cradling me in one hand, she moved her other hand over my body, and her fingertip ran over my torso, probing different muscles. Without warning, she used that same fingertip to tickle my sides and belly. Being tickled by a giant was like tickling on steroids; the feeling of vulnerability was in overdrive.

Only once I was red in the face and panting did she stop, and then I was brought back up to her face.

“CAN I HAVE A LITTLE PARTING KISS?” she said sweetly, batting her eyelashes at me.

She moved my head in close as she puckered her lips and closed her eyes expectantly. Resigned, I pushed my head forward and kissed her lips, or at least, one of them. My face had to go in so close that I smelled the candied aroma of her shining lip gloss. Some of it came off on my mouth like syrup.

Once the waitress had left, I hide behind the wine menu – a laminated card which was propped up on a wooden holder – in case any other waitstaff passed by. Gingerly sitting down, I leaned back against the menu, feeling full and sleepy from my meal. But at my shrunken state, I digested meals faster, so this feeling didn’t take too long to subside. The tiredness, however, lingered a little longer. And the sadness.

My thoughts jumped back to that night at the Portugal when I’d seen Jennifer and Stuart dancing and my gut had plunged with resentment and self-pity. It was happening all over again, but now I was in an even worse picture. I was shrunk. I was even further from getting back with Jennifer than I had been then. But I couldn’t totally escape her either.

I was locked into a pathetic limbo spiral of being close to her, yet at the same time, being immeasurably far away. I either had to get her back fully or get over her fully. There was no compromise. The shrinking had practically demolished the former option, but – through ironic tragedy – my indefinite lodging with her prevented the latter. I was being drawn to her with one hand and pushed away with the other. Getting closer and closer and farther and farther at the same time. And the spiral was getting narrower and narrower, tighter and tighter. Like the mystical Oozlum bird I would soon be neck deep in my own butt. I would forever be doomed in some liminal not-quite-human-but-not-quite-house-pet world, grovelling for the leftover table scraps of Jennifer’s affections whilst being constantly reminded that I never had a proper seat at the table.

It was bad. Really bad. Worse than any other previous period of my life. And I decided then and there I would get serious and do something about it. I was going to pull myself out by the bootstraps.

…Not now, obviously, but tomorrow. Starting tomorrow. Somehow.